


Perhaps We Should Notify His Sister

by wneleh



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s05e06 The Shrine, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:45:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wneleh/pseuds/wneleh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rodney, mid-<i>The Shrine</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps We Should Notify His Sister

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to trobadora for the quick beta and general encouragement. This was written for the 2013 mcshep_match fest, Team Cool, as a pinch hit.

“Perhaps… we should notify his sister.” Teyla held John in place, her left hand squeezing his arm, her right hand open in supplication.

“No, absolutely not.” 

“She should be able to say goodbye to him. And he to her. They have had so little time together.”

“And he to her?” John echoed, feeling his tone grow nasty, sarcastic; not particularly caring. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Because at this rate of diminishment, by the time Jeannie arrived…

He pulled away and angled toward Rodney’s quarters, where he’d been staying since three nights before, when Rodney had awoken in a panic and run to John’s quarters. They’d ended up out on the pier drinking beer, and it had been – not so bad, actually, once John had convinced Rodney that he was stuck with him, that whatever happened, they were in this together.

But, by joint agreement of his team and Jennifer Keller, they hadn’t let Rodney sleep alone since.

\- - - - -

Rodney’s quarters were unusually untidy, as if nothing recently used had been put away. 

At least Rodney could still function here. How long would that last? How long could they maintain the illusion that Rodney had any control over his life? Was it worthwhile to try – did it make a difference to Rodney?

It mattered to John, though, and it was no big deal, spending the night here.

After waving a vague hello to John, Rodney went back to what (John presumed) he’d been already doing – looking through the cabinets under the sink in his small kitchenette. John gave him a minute, but when Rodney started removing things and placing them on the floor John figured an intervention was needed. The space was cluttered enough already.

“Looking for something?”

“I seem to have hidden the cat food from myself.”

“Um…”

“It’s time to feed Morris.”

“Morris… is a cat?”

“Of course, John.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “I know I’m forgetting this and that, but I’d never forget to feed Morris.” A shadow crossed his face, and he added, turning away, “You guys will make sure he’s taken care of, right?”

“Rodney – you don’t have a cat. At least, not here on Atlantis.”

“Of course I do – of course I do – of course Morris is here…” Rodney rose unsteadily, knocking over a stack of plastic bowls that he’d placed near his feet. 

John grabbed his arm and led him to the couch. That Rodney let him do this was deeply unsettling.

“Just sit, buddy.”

Rodney nodded, pressing back into one of the corners of the couch, his eyes darting around the room. 

Looking for Morris.

“McKay, come on,” said John, joining him, close but not touching. “Do you see a litter pan? Do you smell cat?”

“Well, maybe he does his business outside.”

“In the hallways?”

“Hallways?”

“You know where you are, don’t you? Tell me where you are.” John knew Jennifer did this with Rodney every afternoon; now he could see why.

“At-Atlantis,” Rodney stammered. “I didn’t take Morris to Atlantis?”

“No pets allowed,” said John. 

Rodney closed his eyes as his face fell. NOT where John wanted this evening to go! 

He reached over and shook Rodney’s arm. “Come on, buddy, don’t do that. Tell me about Morris.”

“He’s a cat. Or he was. John, I don’t remember what happened to him!”

The force-Rodney-to-recall-facts game was one that John was not prepared to play. It obviously wasn’t doing anyone any good, wasn’t repairing any damage. And John couldn’t see how it could stop the growth of the organism in Rodney’s brain.

But what if they could get Rodney’s brain to start rewiring itself? Could that give him more time, at least? With that gigantic brain, there had to be some surplus capacity that could be reallocated from physics or whatever.

“Tell me,” he said, “why do you like cats?”

“They’re independent, they have self-respect… They have nine lives…”

“Nine lives? Really? How do they manage that?”

Rodney smiled. “Maybe they phase through different dimensions.” Rodney’s smile grew bigger. “That sounds smart, doesn’t it? Different dimensions. Mul-li… Mul-li…”

He stopped, growing frustrated. “Multiple dimensions,” John supplied, but too late; Rodney’s smile had completely vanished and despair seemed to once again creep over him.

John couldn’t help himself. “Nine lives would come in handy. Think they’re lived all at once, or are they like video game lives?”

“They’re like…” Rodney stopped. “John, you know, everyone’s asking me questions, questions all the time… you’re the only person who wants me to spec-u…”

“Speculate. It’s what you do best, buddy.” 

“No, no, I can’t think anymore…” Rodney said. “John, what’ll I do?”

“Practice. Come on, I think we know what you’d do if you had all those lives in series. But what if you had them in parallel?”

Rodney laughed; Rodney’s switches in and out of despair were scarily quick, but John would take the good moments however they came about. 

“Most people, wouldn’t use paral-paral – that word, and serial-not-for-breakfast, with me anymore,” said Rodney. “Because those are smart, en-gin-neer-y words. But I knew them when I was six. So there.”

“That’s the McKay spirit,” said John. “Anyway, I said, ‘series.’”

“Yes but you should have said ‘serial,’” said Rodney. “More mathy.”

“Are you avoiding the question?” John asked.

“No, I just… What was it?”

“If you could control nine versions of yourself at the same time, what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” said Rodney. “But they’d probably be with all nine of yours.”

That was… incredibly sweet. Incredibly, breathtakingly, sweet. Incredibly, breathtakingly, hit-a-guy-on-the-head-with-a-two-by-four did-he-mention-LITERALLY-breathtakingly….

“John, are you okay?”

“Did you just PROPOSE to me, you nut job?” John squeaked.

“PROPOSE? No. Well, maybe. I’m going to marry Jennifer and make brilliant babies. But maybe two or three of me could sleep with two or three of you.” He paused. “Do you think it would be okay if they switched things up a bit, did some trading back and forth?”

“RODNEY!”

Rodney was still leaning back into the couch, but now he looked smugly predatory.

A look he managed for about 20 seconds before starting to giggle. “I think I’ve regressed to age fourteen,” he said. His giggling stopped abruptly. “Morris was my cat when I was fourteen. But I had another cat after… She lived in my apartment… I think…”

He clenched his eyes shut, but it wasn’t enough to stop beads of wetness from appearing. “I’m losing my mind, John,” said Rodney. “It’s going, it’s going and I can’t stop it…”

John leaned in and pulled Rodney close. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Rodney nodded against him. 

“So how are we living those nine lives?”

“Too hard to count them,” Rodney murmured. “But you’re a pilot, a policeman…”

“A cop? You’re kidding me.”

“A male model…”

“What?”

“A male model in THREE of them. A poet, a pinball machine mechanic, a professor of something weird.”

What-do-you-know, that was eight.

“And of course in the last you’re here with me.”

“You know it. So what are you?”

“Always the smartest person you know. Except not anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said John. “Really, it doesn’t matter.”

Rodney took a deep, shuttering breath John felt through his whole body. “You’re a nice person,” Rodney said.

“That’s probably not a majority opinion,” said John. “But I’m glad you think so.” He paused. “Want to tell me more about being fourteen?”

“Not really,” said Rodney. “I remember… Jeannie was a pest, but I loved her like anything. I wish you knew her better… I wish she was here…”

John closed his eyes and nodded; Teyla, of course, had been right. He’d speak to Woolsey in the morning.

It didn’t take long for Rodney to start to drift off; before sleep could completely overtake them both, John urged Rodney to stand and then walked him to his bed, then slid in beside him. 

Why had this taken so long? He was the real fool here, it seemed. 

“This life isn’t so bad,” Rodney said, rolling towards John and putting an arm around him. “Nine lives in serial would be better.”

“Yeah, buddy,” said John, “they would be.” 

THE END


End file.
